


Beauty in undeath

by CrossKindler



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Despair, Hope, OC Story, dark themes, off the main gameplay path, original areas and characters, perseverance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossKindler/pseuds/CrossKindler
Summary: The bell tolls to rise the lords of Cinder to kindle the first flame and continue the age of fire. This process has been repeated for an indefinite amount of time and only makes the world more sick with each passing cycle. When the lords of Cinder neglect their duty the bell instead rises the unkindled. These ash are tasked with kindling the first flame in the lords place. Those chosen are thrust into a dying unforgiving world. One such unkindled, a memory-less woman, must find her purpose and fulfill her assigned duty, Unless she chooses to follow the lords example, and forsaken the world.
Kudos: 2





	1. The Risen

Fire speaks unto the wind, and it whispers Unkindled. The bell tolls and ash stirs, hungry and seeking warmth. 

Out of a coffin fit for a commoner a hand breaks through the veil of death and grips the outside with sheer unyielding life. Soon, a woman leaves her grave to stand against the cloudy sky in defiance of the natural order. She takes a step and staggers. After the years of stagnation her limbs were all but unwilling to obey her living commands. Ash fell from her cloak and she looked around at her monochrome surroundings. Pulling her hood down from her head the only colors around her were from the divine beams of the sun peeking through the mirk. But these were few and far between and offered no warmth when they touched her pale skin. 

Taking a few more steps forward she noticed the multitude of graves stacked at every conceivable angle reaching up to the sky in drab pillars. None of these graves were marked of course, even her own had no name or identifying characteristic to it. Without knowledge of herself she had no idea of who she was, she didn't even have the slightest inkling of her name. Memories are a fickle thing, receding with age and not following through after death. Her’s were left behind when the bell roused her from a not so eternal slumber. The only thing to do was move forward, Over piles of ash and dead kindling. Ahead of her came to the ruins of some forgotten structure that could have been where the grave tenders lived. A path went straight through the ruins to face a grey backdrop of dead mountains. In the middle of this path was a fountain. Long had it sat dry and cracked under the assault of the elements and time. At the base lay a corpse whose flesh clung to the bone so tight that it had ripped at the seams. 

She knelt down next to the corpse and stared at it’s hollowed out eyes long picked apart by buzzards. There was nothing remarkable about the mass of bones in front of her. It could have been the gravetender themself that had laid down to rest next to the cool stone fountain only to never wake up again. It also could just have easily been a body someone had been too drought with laziness to put in a coffin. Either way it held nothing for her so she straightened back up and made to leave when out of the corner of her eye she spotted a dull yellow glow from inside one of the corpse’s pockets. Extending a hand into the pocket the body did not stir and continued to slump in death. Her hand touched something cool and smooth and she gripped the top of it. Retracting her hand from the course wool pocket she gazed upon a dull green flask. It was empty and seemingly held no value whether that be monetary or any else. Not having anything on her person besides the clothes on her back she added the flask to her own pocket, the dead had no need for such trinkets.

A shuffling from behind startled her and she spun around only to find a broken sword being thrust through her chest. The force of the attack took her to the ground in a pool of her own blood. Through dying eyes she saw someone who was much like the corpse next to the fountain, skin stretched thin and hollowed sockets. The only difference was that this one had some life left in it.The rusted broken blade had passed harshly through her lungs making it hard to breath. Every breath sent sparks all the way through to her throat. When she breathed out said blood stagnated in her throat. As she died the living corpse limped back to it’s spot, not bothering to retrieve it’s sword. 

An eternity passed after that. Neither heat nor cold penetrated oblivion to touch her soul. The unfleeling void held her tight and kept her from crossing over to the true afterlife. Instead, her hand once more penetrated ash and she rolled to the cold hard ground coughing. though there was nothing causing her to do so. 

After recomposing herself she looked down at her hands. Only a curse could do this to a person. The one that anchored her to this world must be strong. While inspecting herself she noticed healed scars in the shape of circles on both sides of either of her pale wrists. Something had been driven through them to make such scars. There was also a hole in her tunic where she had been stabbed. Looking down the way she had come she thought that it would be a better idea to check her surroundings. As if to reward her exploration she found a chipped dagger and an old staff behind her. These had been laid next to a wicked looking tree with bark made of charcoal. The two items felt like they were meant for her to hold and she kept them close. Setting off in the only direction that made sense she pressed on. When she arrived at the place where she had been killed previously she found a small pool of dried blood on the ground. Seemingly urged by instinct she bent down and touched it with her index finger. 

In her mind’s eye she saw a woman in a cloak being cut down by a sword. As if directed by fate once again there was shuffling behind her. Learning her lesson she drew her dagger and faced the assailant. A corpse wielding a sword stalked towards her. The undead being swung it’s blade to try and decapitate her but she easily dodged out of the way of the sluggish blow. Taking two steps back she raised her staff to block another swing. Before the cold steel ever met the wood of her staff a blazing blue bolt sailed from it’s tip and straight into the temple of the corpse. It fell to the ground with a groan and went limp. Her eyes widened and she looked at the staff in her hands. There was no doubt in her mind that it was meant for her. She had used magic without any knowledge of the arcane arts. Giving the body in front of her a firm kick in the ribs she pushed past the fountain and found two more “hollows.” which was the word she thought fit them most. Creatures with no discernable race or gender that were but shells of their former selves. Disturbing nothing else she walked up two small sets of poorly cut stone stairs nestled in between stacks of coffins, reaching the precipice of a great mountain range. From her perspective she could see everything for miles. The snow capped peaks of the mountains thrust at the sky itself and obscured everything further then their mighty forms. 

A voice inside urged her to jump, but from what she had experienced there would be no point other than to feel the rush of death once again. To her left was a path that extended upwards at a high angle. She pushed on and had to use her hands to make it up the steep path. When she reached the top the land flattened for a moment before dipping down into a courtyard surrounded by a dozen stone arches. Past that sat a grand domed structure flanked on one side by a massive cobblestone tower. The only way to arrive at the structure ahead was to walk a path that ran along the cliffs on the other side of the courtyard. 

She had to take a step back to see the whole thing, in the process she tripped over something sticking out of the ground. After getting back up she looked at what had toppled her. A short rusted blade had been stuck in the ground not far from the cliff. She had missed it while being mesmerized by the tower. Upon closer inspection it seemed to be something of a more ornamental design and not a weapon intended for battle, with It’s blade warped into a half spiral like coil. Bones and white ash encircled the sword for about a foot before abruptly stopping. Something about the sword called to her, made promises to her and most importantly, offered warmth. In a trance she reached a hand out to touch the hilt of the coiled sword. As her hand inched closer she could feel something rising from within her urging her to continue. She hadn’t the will to deny this feeling and finally touched the red metal. 

Fire surged from under the sword and the bones beneath it were set aflame. True warm light danced across her skin and cast long shadows all around her. Rust peeled off the blade and rained down like embers in the wind. A smile grew across her pale lips. Not a happy smile like when a joke is heard nor one of a parent beholding their child. It was the smile of someone who had come home after a long journey. She stood like that, mesmerized and enchanted by the flame.


	2. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving at a bonfire our protagonist finds herself drained of the will to go on, consumed by the all encompassing brilliance of the flame. When she least expects it She is wrenched from her stupor by the same bell that had freed her soul from the clutches of death, for better or worse. Like before she only has one direction to go. Like last time she will face death.

Although she sat there, staring at the all encompassing flame for what felt like hours, the sun never dipped below the horizon line. It was an unnatural thing, but so was she. A being risen from death and born unto the world again from the ashes she had no place in this world. Yet here she was, breathing the dull air of the mountains. 

In rest her thoughts strayed towards her purpose, or lack thereof. Why, out of all the other countless corpses piled high had she been chosen for resurrection. If she could just remember. Maybe her past had to do with it. Was she the heiress to a royal bloodline, had she cast a spell that would revive herself after a time. Both of these possibilities were possible, but she couldn’t be certain. The only thing definite was the path she had to take. 

Her gaze drifted to the tower behind her. It’s peak aligned perfectly with the sun as if it was a hand pointing to the twelfth hour on a clock. Looking back at the bonfire a feeling welled up in her stomach. It could be dread of the unknown or something left over from being stabbed earlier. Would the truth be too much to bear? Did she want to know? Would anyone have an answer? Too many questions and too few answers. Staring into the flame removed these worries. The warmth it provided dashed all anxiety and hope. Fire didn’t need to think, only burn. Just as the bell of awakening had roused her from death, it beckoned her now. Ash crumbled from crevices in the bellower’s antiquated stonework. Twelve tolls rang out in sequence before only the wind could be heard. 

This was it, a chance for answers. If someone had rung the bell then they retained some sense of purpose and duty. With that, came sanity. She quickly collected her dagger and staff before setting off towards the tower. The path was tricky. Whatever path that existed had fallen off the cliff due to the stress of the wind. Off to her right there was a slight drop off above a hollow leaning heavily against a stone wall. To her left the path forked. One way overlooked a massive coffin with a tree growing around it and the other was an uncertain slope that led down. 

The best option seemed to be the aforementioned one. She stepped lightly to avoid disturbing the loose gravel below her and risk being carried off the cliff. At the bottom a black robed hollow stood facing the distant mountains. In its arms it carried a crossbow. The wood had rotted and the iron mechanisms had long since rusted. She didn’t want to test if it still fired. Only a few steps away from the crossbowman she lost her footing and slid hard onto her backside. Several stones tumbled down to rest at the Hollow’s feet. Through the pain she cursed herself for being so careless. A face devoid of expression looked at her. Through sunken eyes the hollow aimed it’s crossbow with more skill than she had expected. 

A bolt pierced the air and sailed towards her. She dived out of the way and scraped her arms on the rough ground. The bolt pinged against the stone wall and fell to the ground harmlessly. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at the blood smeared along her forearm. A click brought panic into her eyes as she looked up. Standing over her the hollow didn’t even need to aim. She quickly rolled to face it and reflexively held her hands out in front of her. There would be no way she could stop such a projectile but it was worth a try. As expected, the bolt passed through her outstretched hands into her heart. Death once again grabbed at her soul. This time however, the fire burned brightly. Driving back the afterlife Heat brought consciousness and her physical form back from the brink. 

She opened her eyes and sat up. Phantom pains traced through her hand like a dozen fish hooks being wrenched through it. Rolling on the ground she waited until the agony subsided. Beads of sweat ran down her brow while her heart indeed in her ears. There was now a hole in her cloak, another reminder of how weak she truly was. Even though the hollows of this world were slow and lacked a sane mind they were just as able to kill you if you weren't careful. A lesson she had learned the hard way. 

Whipping her face with the hem of her cloak she took a deep breath, picked up her belongings, and set out once again. When she arrived at the slope where she had most recently she found the crossbowman staring out at the distant mountains. This time she would not make the same mistake. Her left hand held the withered staff pointed towards her target. Through her narrowed eyes she pictured a bolt of blue sailing towards the hollow. At her command the staff vibrated with energy as the projectile she envisioned shot at breakneck speed. In mere moments it cut clean through dried flesh and bone to see the cliff’s edge. 

A mile formed on her face. She was learning. After methodically planting her feet on solid positions she made it to the bottom. From there the path winded around the cliff edge with the inner side flanked by a rock wall. As she approached the bend a dull breathing caught her ears. She readied her dagger and as she stepped forward a sword thrust at her. Expecting something like this she backpedaled to avoid the attack. Wasting no time she thrust her dagger into the arm of the hollow and used her leverage to shove it off the edge to tumble the hundreds of feet below. With the dagger dripping blood on her hands she felt strong. 

Hiking the rest of the way around the path ended in a large stone archway flanked on one side by yet another hollow wielding a crossbow. It’s black veil and robes obscured the damned flesh underneath. Immediately she was drawn to the arch. Where empty space should have sat there instead was a door of winding fog. It obscured everything beyond the entrance making the dangers ahead invisible. 

If there was another route she would have taken it but the sheer rock faces all around her denied any hope of climbing over the wall. She would have to walk through the fog, as much as it scared her to do so. 

She readied her staff and whipped the blood from her dagger. It seemed as if the hollow out in the open was alone but it was too easy, there had to be more. With such an open space there would surely be adversaries with ranged weapons. She peeked around the corner and looked up. Just as she suspected, the glint of a steel arrow in the dim light caught her eye. As her attention was elsewhere she failed to conceal herself. An arrow skimmed the flesh of her cheek and drew a line of blood across it. She immediately recoiled and put a hand to her face. The wound was not deep but stung fiercely. Her carelessness had ruined any chance at surprise she previously had. Ignoring the pain she put on a face of determination and ran out. Her path led straight to the black robed figure just outside the arch. She pushed her legs to take her as fast as she could go and make the distance in mere moments. Having been focused on reloading it’s weapon the hollow never saw her coming. By the time it leveled it’s crossbow her dagger had pierced it’s heart. Wood and metal dropped to the floor loudly. 

Triumphant only for a moment her lack of skill shone through. The force of her attack had plunged the dagger hilt deep into the hollow making it impossible to tug free. For a moment she tried to remove it but suddenly remembered the hollow she had spotted earlier. Quickly spinning around she aimed her staff. With her mind she thought of her target and fired. Her eyes traced the flight path as it scored a hit. A body fell from it’s vantage point and hit the cold stone with dead weight. She breathed a sigh of relief and let her shoulders slump forward. 

Now there was nothing standing in the way of her progress, or so she thought. After taking a step towards the fog wall she felt a stabbing pain in her side. Looking down she saw an arrow protruding from her body. Funny, she never heard it coming. She limped her way to the arch and was forced by a sinking feeling in her legs to sit down. Blood trickled down her face creating what looked like tears of blood. She was so close. So damned close and fate spat in her face as soon as she made any progress. Her hand rested on the arrow lodged in her. She knew if she pulled it out she would bleed to death. But what else could she do. There would surely be more to overcome through the fog wall and with her wounds it would be child's play to overtake her. 

She bit her lip and growled in frustration. Channeling her anger she gripped the arrow shaft white knuckle tight. With one furious tug she wrenched it free of her flesh. The barbs on either side had undoubtedly rended her insides; but she didn't care. All of the pain blended together and it couldn't get any worse. She leaned to her wounded side to try and get more comfortable while she died. A sad thing to say but hopefully this time she wouldn't resurrect. As she winced in pain from her new position the emerald flask rolled from her pocket and clattered to the ground next to her. The sound of it reverberated through the air around her in a monumental echo. She sighed and reached a blood stained hand to grab the useless thing. When her hand finally grasped it she expected to feel cold unforgiveness. Instead she was presented with something akin to a fire’s warmth. 

She brought the thing in close so her half lidded eyes could see it clearly. When she had acquired it the flask had been hollow and devoid of anything to contain. Now it seemed that the very flame from the bonfire had been bottled up and added to her person. The same fire that had captivated her for so long, the fire that had eased her bones and brought comfort, as fleeting as that feeling was. She had no idea how this had come to be but it eased her suffering if only a little. The wind howled around her and sang bitter songs of cold. Comments of content battered her pale skin. The world did not want her to partake of this flame, this burning disobedience, this estus flask. In a fit of defiance she put the bottled fire to her lips and drank, and drank. Dredging the container of every bit of warmth it held within. 

Instantly it seemed as if she had never been on the edge of death. The pain subsided, Vigor filled her muscles and fire coursed through her veins something fierce. Fire replaced the gaping hole in her flesh and sewed the wound on her cheek closed. You would be hard pressed to expect there to have been any damage done to her at all. Lifting herself off of the ground had never felt easier. While everything around her remained grey she seemed as if the sun had blessed her with radiance. She cast a glance at the empty flask in her hand and fondly drew her thumb across it. With this she was ready, with this she could press on, with this she could make it to the tower and laugh in the face of death. 

With a fire burning in her heart she stood to face the fog wall. It’s uncertain surface curled around itself while remaining a solid sheet of white. This thing was unnatural, and so was she. Her hand reached forward and sank through. No pain surfaced and nothing wrenched her through the gateway. She pressed on unceremoniously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my story so far. It fills me with such jubilation that I can hardly contain myself. So far college has taken away my ability to write when I want to. With the end of midterm season I have been given a great deal more free time that will enable me to relax and craft a hopefully enjoyable story for you all. If any of you are interested in joining me for some jolly co-operation or mayhap some honorful duels my Xbox gamer tag is Ves1culargnome. You may request to join me anywhere whether it be in Lordran, Dranleic, or Lothric. My sign will always be there for you. praise the sun, and be careful out there, I wouldn't want to see you go hollow.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first upload to Ao3 and I am super excited for any feedback you all have. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve so I can take your criticisms just don’t be rude. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my character’s journey through her fading world


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